Puppet Master
by Trailing Ashes
Summary: After the episode "Teamwork", House finds Chase drunk; nearly passed out in front of his apartment. Giving off his thoughts on everything he'd gained while reeling in his new team.


**Title:** Puppet Master

**Summary:** After the episode "Teamwork", House finds Chase drunk; nearly passed out in front of his apartment. Giving off his thoughts on everything he'd gained while reeling in his new team.

**Authors Notes:** I need to write more Chase fics. Damn I love Chase. And House. And Chase. Shit.

But right! I...certainly don't think I'm the best author. Or that House really thinks these things, just giving a little drabble on his perspective regardless. Even if it's a little out there or a little twisted, I just always see House sadistically and manipulatively holding onto those things close to him somehow...

Anyways. Hope you like it and maybe get the stream of thought House has as well as my switch off of perspectives at first. Of course as always, reviews are welcomed!

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_"You poisoned them just like you poisoned Chase....You ruined him."_

The lights flash all around him. In all their glory. He stands there, still as a ghost. Staring off in a distant flicker of everything that's going on around him. A rush of ambulances, the sound of sirens--cold rain hitting pavement from where he stares. Bue eyes against a numb, dark reality.

_"You did kill Dabola--by playing God. And teaching us to do the same."_

_"You know. Cameron thinks you're my own personal sock puppet. She figures if you don't stay, it's hard to prove her wrong."_

And now there he is. Staring up at you from a mess of blood and distance.

His puppet.

His little duckling....Robert Chase.

_"You made him this way."_

I made you this way.

It's true. Around against my head, sure. I knew it was true.

Staring down at the man, dazed and disoriented.

"...I'm going to be honest."

Well, I had to be. Voice pressing on irony.

There's a moment I can see him looking up; head tilting toward me as if for a second he can catch my gaze, hear my voice and the winning, almost ironic smile against my face.

Funny thing too. I remember once Foreman gave a quip about my first team having stockholm syndrome. And all of gods if it wasn't to some part, true.

The air is as wet as it is cold as I lean down to take a seat in the rain on the curb just near him. Smiling all as if none of it matters, gaze fixed off toward the ragged, bleeding man. Speaking as if really, the both of us have all the time in the world to sit here and chat.

Chase gasps slightly; probably the shock of water getting to his system. Or maybe an injury I can't see yet.

I know in some ways he sees me as a father. I know in a lot of ways he sees me as a mentor, as someone worth working for. Worth even, breaking up for--whether subconscious or not. I'm not sure what to think about this but at the same time I know I can always get used to this again. Even more this time.

It was why I fired him to begin with, in fact. The beauty of his little loyal charms somehow fading into Cameron. The differences between his loyalties and his focus; Cameron being all there was for the man at that point.

And now he's come back, beaten and bleeding. Soaking to the bone like some rich golden dog thrown to the curb. I smile slightly, looking down at him. Feeling ridiculously accomplished for someone who just lost the best of his oldest team.

"I kind of like you like this."

I nudge the man with my good foot; he blinks away the rain and makes some sort of confused noise despite himself. The guy is drunk as all of hell, not altogether lucid but this is just what makes it all the better. Soaked and tossed out like yesterday's trash.

"You....come craaawling back to me despite having the chance of a beautiful wife, a great life...Sure, it was bound to explode eventually, but the whole reason Cameron asked you all this was to get where you stood...

And low and behold, you're still standing here. With me! I'm so touched."

Somehow there's really something wrong with getting a bit of a sadistic pleasure out of seeing the man squirm, but I'm testing my own boundaries in some ways. Just seeing how far I can push him and maybe seeing how long too. If Cameron was right he really was more loyal than any dog a man could dream for.

I nudge his cheek again; but the man reacts pretty slowly. Shoving it out of his face with one hand; hair already spilled out on the pavement along the muddy rain water that shifts through a grate near my other foot. The rain isn't that bad, but it is cold.

"Hm. So either you are ridiculously loyal. Or..."

Or he was a number of other things. None of which he was, every option I could think of was pretty much shot down. I gave the last bit with a slightly more provoking shove of my soaked but very nice shoes to his cheek.

"I brainwashed you. Took advantage of all those little daddy issues...and. In reality I'm the only one you have left....You'd do anything for me."

Again, another little shove. He hasn't shut his eyes yet, and I'm realizing too that he probably won't remember this tomorrow if the vacant expression's anything to go by. I'm looking down to the man, soaked and practically at my mercy.

Looking away finally, towards the sky for just a brief moment.

Another thing coming to me--pieces piled together into a beautiful symphonies. Strange how this is in fact the place he'd found himself lying in. In front of the apartment that I stayed at. The place I went home to--that in reality. It only furthered to prove everything I was saying and more. Him ending up here at all.

"....Huh. No turning back from that, Dr. Chase."

From me, this place, this life.

I emphasize the name "Doctor" pretty loudly too; blinking up at the sky. Just as soaked now as he is.

And I pick up my cane again and---somewhere along my train of thought I'm sure I did realize the moral implications here. But ever since getting out of rehab I've spiraled more and more back into some of my old ways. Only a little. Things here and there, every once in a while. While getting better, I'd kept onto what made me...me. House.

I knew too Wilson would be driven up the wall by this, but what was done was done. House world and brainwash and cutely loyal team or not, there was one thing Cameron _was_ right about.

Chase wasn't going back. Oh, he'd tried I was sure. Pushing at it with all he had, backing out of every little reminder of the team, bitterly rejecting anything that so much breathed my name; even moving on with his life, with Cameron. Getting married. But the reality was he'd never really been able to run too far. First chance he fell and look us now. Back at the beginning.

My nudging doesn't seem to be getting him any more reactions than a tired, weak raise of the Aussie's hand like he wants to shove it away, but just can't muster the effort. Don't blame the man. Falling over drunk at the side of the street during this hour--after a bar fight and dragging himself here in rain no less. The man was impressive. Always was. Golden boy, always out for the best answer. Always out to make. Me. Proud.

How cute.

And funny that. How despite all of this I think I genuinely enjoyed Chase being at my beck and call. I think somewhere in some twisted light I did genuinely enjoyed this a lot more than I should, him staying. Him choosing me over Cameron, over that life. It was wrong. And it was, in a way, even twisted. Cameron, the little genius was certainly right. Everything she said coming back to me; and knowing fully well the man lying in the gutter beside me was probably more loyal to me now than ever before. I had his life in my hands. Me, of all people. Somehow playing God, more than with just the patients--but with my own staff too.

And what did I do with it, sit and watch as the guy fought not to pass out; drunk as all of hell.

I think there's some kind of poetic beauty to that somewhere. I could do anything to the man and he'd still come crawling back.

Sirens and other cars fade out into the distance and I'm pushing myself up with my cane, carefully leaning over Chase. He doesn't really get a good look at me while I busy with wrenching his arm over one shoulder; attempting however I can to lift the man to my level in the cold. Difficult thing to do with my condition and the though insanely intense; the pain for now is really something I'll have to bare with little expression. Shifting only to get the guy upward and talking loud enough so as to get a little movement on his part.

"You know this'd be _a lot_ easier if you walked with me, _Dr. Chase_."

I know I shouldn't be smiling either. By god the pain is a load and a half, but I am. The other man's head lulls off to the side; his legs barely sturdy enough for us to move foreword. But foreword it is--that or staying out here all night. I mean by god I could leave him out here to drown in half an inch of water, but what kind of man would I be then...!

I'm walking. Him too, well. Stumbling--close enough. And we're heading off towards the building, cane in one hand and my drunk employee helped along by the other. Wilson will be more thrilled than ever I was so very sure, but it was good to have the blond man back. Back on the team, back in the vortex I suppose I'd created. Back in this life.

I knew he'd pushed. And kept on pushing. But he was back now. And he'd done the right thing. For everyone. Somewhere, I genuinely believed that too. In some smug, beautiful way. It was all at the end, the place we all belonged.

I think maybe a little Wilson might have been right.... Me. Holding onto everyone while losing Cuddy. Keeping close to the team just so that I did have something after all. But in another way I realized, they really weren't about to leave me here any time soon. And even when they tried, fought and spit still, I always won in the end.

"Hope you like Wilson's home, Robert. It's a few floors up sooo--this might be challenging. I'm sure we'll make it there together though--keep on moving. Tomorrow I'll let you ride to work on my motorcycle. How much fun will that be."


End file.
